Meg in Middle Earth
by Meg Thornton
Summary: My efforts at a realistic self-insertion into Middle Earth. If you don't like 10th member fics, or Mary Sues, don't read this. You have been warned. - Chapter 5 up now.
1. A Portal to Where?

Author's Notes and Acknowledgements:  
  
1) All characters in this story save for Meg the protagonist, Meg the timelooped, Magda Breeton and Mary Mordor Sue are the creations of J R R Tolkien. They are being used without permission in this work of fanfiction. The previously named characters are my own, and I'm well and truly aware that at least three of them are Mary Sues of a fairly high degree. Don't bother telling me about it.  
  
2) The notion that an author is literally creating a parallel world is a common one, however I'll pay primary acknowledgement for my understanding of it to Robert A Heinlein's book "The Number of the Beast".  
  
3) This is an unashamed Mary Sue. It's a transdimensional hop, it's "modern girl goes to Midlde Earth" at its most blatant. If you're not interested in those, I strongly suggest that you stop reading *NOW*, before you get too annoyed with the whole business. I've done my best with this one: the spelling and grammar have been checked and double-checked; the characterisation is as close to the book as I can get it (with the understandable influence of the movieverse: after all, that's what I see in my head a lot of the time); there are valid reality checks all the way through, most of which don't bounce; and the more obvious plot-holes have been patched. I don't go chasing the elf or the engaged Man. However, it is *still* a Mary Sue, a "tenth member" fic, and the most blatant self- insertion I can manage. Again, if you don't like such things, turn away *NOW*.  
  
4) If you've not read the above, I've stated twice that this is a Mary Sue. This is the third time. If you email me, or comment in reviews that this is a Mary Sue, in a context which suggests that I might not have been aware of this, I will flame right back. Forgive me in advance for biting your head off should this be the case, but I'll be under the impression that you aren't using it.  
  
5) No money is being made from this. Not even Gondorrim copper pieces.  
  
***Book One***  
  
Chapter One: A Portal to ... Where?  
  
Friday morning again. I was on earlies. Out the door at six in the morning, half-asleep and three-quarters dead, which is probably why I didn't notice the portal in the pathway. Mind you, I did notice once I'd walked through it. Canberra mid-winter early morning darkness to bright summer sunshine... somewhere else is something of a transition. So of course I asked the time-honoured, obvious, and almost obligatory question:  
  
"Where am I?"  
  
There didn't appear to be anybody nearby to answer me. I looked around. Lush rolling landscape, green fields, neatly fenced-off meadows, round doors and windows in sides of the hillocks, mountains off in the distance - hang on, what was that bit about the doors and windows again? I took another look. Yup, round doors and windows under the hillocks. Ooooohhhkaaaay. Either I'd walked through a portal to New Zealand or I was in Middle Earth. I hoped it was New Zealand.  
  
Okay, next obvious question: could I just turn around and walk home? I looked behind me. There was a great oak tree about two steps away. So either I stepped out of the oak tree, or I had appeared in front of it. Would I be willing to risk a bump on the head from walking into it? Probably not. I took a closer look at the tree. If it was artificial, I knew that I was in New Zealand, which only left the question of how on Earth I got there. If it wasn't ... well, I'd deal with that when I found out. The leaves looked real enough, but then again, I'd seen some pretty realistic artificial leaves in my day. The only way I was going to be able to find out which one was which was by seeing one close up.  
  
I risked a couple of steps back toward the trunk. Nope, if a portal had been there, it certainly wasn't now. I was stuck here, wherever "here" happened to be.  
  
It was time to find that out for sure. There was a low-hanging branch of the tree hanging near the visible edge of the hill, which looked like it might be in reach if I was lucky. I headed toward it, but it was just out of reach. A small jump and I should be able to reach it, I thought. I jumped. I got the leaf, but I also discovered that what I had thought was a slope heading down was actually something of a drop off: a six-foot drop off, to be precise. I really wasn't expecting that. I also wasn't really expecting a stone pavement underneath. Luckily, I'm well padded, and just as luckily, I had the sense to bend my knees as I landed.  
  
  
  
"Shit!" (I swear like a trooper, especially when I'm doing silly things like falling down a six-foot cutting onto a stone pavement in front of somebody's front door). It was a bad landing. My left ankle was busy telling me that it did not like this, and my left wrist was complaining ditto (trick wrist, doesn't like being landed on, or used as a prop). I've never been keen on falling over a lot.  
  
So, there I was, swearing and trying not to cry, and trying equally hard to get some breath back so that I could swear some more, when the door opened.  
  
"Excuse me? Are you all right?"  
  
I looked at the speaker. He looked youngish, with curly blondish hair and bright blue eyes. Hairy feet. I really noticed the hairy feet. That and the slight points to the ears: noticeable because his hair was all wet, as though he had just finished washing. No visible signs of prosthetics anywhere. Well, that plus the genuine, leaf-feeling oak leaf still clutched in my right hand sorted things out. I was in Middle Earth, and from the height of the person before me, this must be the Shire. Oh damn! Now how would I explain this one at work? Better still, how would I get back so I could get to work? I hadn't anyone arranged to cover my shift, and if I missed a shift, I would never hear the end of it. I decided quickly to make a start on getting myself explained.  
  
"Ummm ... hi. I don't know quite how to explain this, but, ummm ... I'm a bit lost."  
  
Oddly enough, this seemed to be the right thing to say. The hobbit on the doorstep laughed.  
  
"I should say so, if you've just fallen down the Hill at my door. Come inside and tell me how you got here."  
  
I smiled, a bit weakly, and tried to get up. That was when I discovered that the ankle had at least turned, if not actually sprained itself. I bit back another swearword (Tolkien's characters do not swear, although I'm sure at least some of them would have liked to on occasion. Plus, ladies didn't know those sorts of words in this particular society: a lady gets more respect than a trollop at the best of times) but my face must have reflected the pain I was feeling. Then I leaned on the left wrist, and couldn't stop myself from gasping.  
  
"That doesn't sound good," remarked my host, looking concerned. "Are you hurt?" I couldn't speak without swearing (see note earlier) so I just nodded, biting down hard on my lower lip. He came forward, and helped me sit up a bit, then called in through the door.  
  
"Pippin, Sam, come here and give me some help. We've someone hurt here!"  
  
At hearing those names, I started worrying even more. A voice from inside the hole, calling "Coming Mr Frodo!" didn't ease my mind either. Okay, not only was I in Middle Earth, but I appeared to be in Middle Earth around the time of the Quest of the Ring. A quick look at the hands of my host didn't help either: ten fingers. I was here before the quest to destroy the ring. But when? If I was lucky, it was the year after Bilbo's birthday party, and Gandalf would be along at some stage. The wizard was my best bet of getting home. If I wasn't lucky (and when was I ever lucky?) I'd probably landed right at the time of the quest of the ring. I had to find out which. I looked up at Frodo.  
  
"This is going to sound like an odd question, but could you tell me what year it is?"  
  
He looked at me, slightly concerned, taking in the oddness of my attire, my accent, and the fact that I certainly didn't look as though I belonged in the Shire. He seemed to be weighing me up. Apparently he must have concluded that he either liked what he saw, or that I seemed harmless enough for a travelling madwoman, because he told me, "The year is 1418 in the Shire reckoning, and it is the first day of September. Does that help you at all?" I nodded, because it did, although "help" was probably the wrong word altogether. I'd landed at Bag End, twenty-three days before it got handed over to the Sackville-Bagginses, and the quest of the ring started. Oh lovely. When I find out which of the various gods I believe in is responsible for this one, I'm going to Have Words with them. At great length.  
  
The other two hobbits appeared at the door and started briefly at my odd appearance. I could see one of them plucking at Frodo's sleeve, looking concerned. Probably Samwise, I guessed from his clothes, which would make the other one, who was peering at me curiously, Peregrin Took. They both looked vaguely similar to the actors chosen to play their roles, although not identical by any means; for a start, there wasn't that vague five o'clock shadow on either chin. For seconds, Pippin looked as though he'd been red-headed as a child (which would probably account for the nickname), while Sam's hair was dark brown, verging on black. (Well, they'd said the movie wasn't intended to be accurate). Sam took Frodo by the elbow and drew him off to the side a little; not quite far enough, for I could hear what he was saying.  
  
"Who's this, Mr Frodo? Seems odd, her arriving out of the blue, just out of nothing like that!"  
  
"I don't know, Sam. But while she's here, she's hurt, and we ought to help her, at least."  
  
"But Mr Frodo, she might be someone sent to take ... it." Here he directed an angry look toward me.  
  
"Sam, have a look at her. She's hurt, and if I read her eyes right, she's frightened. I think her wits are a little mazed, too: she asked me what the year was. I don't think she's a tool of the dark. I think she's what she says she is: lost."  
  
"Yes, but lost from where? Where's she lost from, that she winds up at the door of Bag End? I know she didn't come up by the road, for I was watching from the kitchen window, and I saw nobody coming along it. I'd want to know who she is, and where she's from, before I'd be trusting her inside." At that comment, Frodo nodded, and turned back toward me.  
  
"My friend here has a point," he said. "Who are you, and where do you come from?".  
  
I briefly closed my eyes. Now I was for it. Should I play the wandering madwoman? Or should I trust them with the truth. The truth, I think. They'll decide I'm a wandering madwoman from that soon enough.  
  
"My name is Meg. I'm from a place called Australia, far in your future. I arrived on the hill when I was meaning to be heading to the bus stop. I don't know how I got here, just that I am here." Three hobbits, three looks which said very clearly "you what?"  
  
Sam turned to Frodo and said, "You're right, her wits are mazed." But Pippin took a closer look at me.  
  
"Wherever she's from," he commented, "it's not the Shire: her clothes definitely aren't of Shire-make. Have a look at her boots, too!"  
  
The other two took another look at me, Sam scowling at me as he did so. I wasn't comfortable with their scrutiny, which went on just a little too long. I stuck my tongue out at Sam: "Nyer!" This made him start back a little, which in turn made Frodo and Pippin laugh.  
  
"Look," I said, looking straight at Sam as I did so, "I'm not here to hurt any of you. I don't know how I got here, and I don't know why I was brought here, but my ankle is aching something fierce. I'd really like to be able to check on whether or not I've done something really nasty to it. Please?"  
  
This recalled them to my injuries and all three of them helped me up. I gave my bag to Pippin to carry, while Frodo and Sam supported me in the door. There were comments when I rose to my full height; I'm only five foot two, which is short for a human, but it was a good fifteen inches taller than the tallest of the hobbits (Frodo), so the difference was noticeable. It hurt to put weight on my left leg, but I could do it, so at least that ankle wasn't broken. That was a small mercy, anyway. I got taken inside the hobbit hole, and sat down on a chair in the hall. I started undoing the laces on my left-hand boot. There was some swelling; the knot in the laces was hard to undo, with very little slack, which wasn't a good sign. Sam was the one who bent down, batted my hands away and took to the knot himself. He had it undone in a trice and carefully eased the boot off my foot.  
  
With Sam's assistance, I carefully rotated the ankle: there was a lot of pain, but I had the full range of motion (and no extra, thank heavens). Sam looked up at me.  
  
"Looks as though you may have twisted your ankle, Miss. I'll go get a cold compress for it."  
  
He bustled off, presumably toward the kitchen. In the meantime, Frodo and Pippin helped me out of my coat ("the horse blanket" as I call it: a big duffle jacket of microfibre that I wear in winter to keep off the worst of the wind, the rain, and the cold) and hung up my bag on the coat hook as well. I was still rugged up in my black velvet coat, jumper, jeans, tights, leggings, scarf and gloves, as well as a long-sleeved t- shirt under the jumper (well, it was winter in Canberra and I feel the cold badly). All the layers got strange looks from the two hobbits, who were still in what were probably summer-weight clothes; the weather was a sight warmer in late summer in the Shire than it was in late winter in Canberra. I took off the jumper, as well as the scarf and gloves, smiling as I did so.  
  
"It's warmer here than it was back home," I said.  
  
I think it was all the extra layers which turned the tide for Frodo and Pippin. That and the fact that my hands and face were still cold (poor peripheral circulation: I never thought I'd be so thankful for it). If I'd walked to Bag End in all of that lot, even in the cool of an early morning, I'd've been sweating like an overloaded horse. But here I was rugged up for icy weather and cold as winter. I spotted the glance they exchanged; one that said without words, "something to discuss with Gandalf, when he shows up."  
  
Oh gods. It just hit me: I've really, really landed in the story of the Lord of the Rings. What will my presence do to the story? I mean, I know that Gandalf isn't going to show. I know that Frodo is going to set off for Crickhollow with Sam and Pippin in just a few weeks. But they don't know this yet. They're all waiting for Gandalf, who's now imprisoned at Orthanc. Oh no. What have I got myself into? Plus ringwraiths are due here in about a month. Oh shit. This is not going to be easy.  
  
Oh, and just out of interest, how the hells was I understanding Westron? Better yet, how the hells was I speaking it? I knew I that I didn't speak a word of the language, and none of them should have known any English. So how were they understanding a word I said? How long would it last?  
  
I think some of that must have passed across my face, because Frodo looked at me in concern.  
  
"Is your ankle hurting you?" he asked. I shook my head.  
  
"It's not the ankle, it's something else. If you don't mind, I'll explain later." He looked at me slightly suspiciously, but nodded. I leaned on the left wrist again, by accident, and winced as a shot of pain went through me. Blast, I'd forgotten about that! I lifted up the wrist and felt around it with my right hand. Nothing out of the ordinary, just that trick wristbone again, which was easy enough to fix. I grasped my left wrist in my right hand, thumb underneath, fingers on top, and twisted it back toward me. Crack! Both Frodo and Pippin jumped, as did Sam, who had just cautiously entered the hall, bearing a bowl of water and a cloth for a compress. But most of the pain was gone from the wrist now, as the bones slid back into alignment and stopped pinching the nerve. I think a lot went out of my eyes. I looked up, seeing the shock on their faces, smiled sheepishly and held up my left hand.  
  
"Trick wrist," I said, by way of explanation. "It's been dodgy since I put it out playing volleyball at school once." The complete lack of comprehension in their faces was enough to start me laughing, weakly. "I'm sorry I startled you all."  
  
Strangely enough, I think this partally won their trust. Frodo smiled, Pippin laughed, and I even got a shy smile from Sam, who came forward with the bowl of water and the compress. I took off my sock, but we were all stymied by the tights; after all, I couldn't take them off without stripping almost to the skin. Ah well, one damp ankle wouldn't kill me. I took the compress and put it onto my ankle, and sighed as the pain started to ease a bit. I looked at Frodo.  
  
"Could I have my bag, please?" He looked back at me and a shadow of suspicion seemed to cross his open face.  
  
"I'll let you watch as I take things out, if you like. I've nothing very dangerous in there." That seemed to reassure him. He took the bag down from the stand where it was hanging and handed it to me. I fished out my keys and work pass from my pockets (a bit awkwardly; my weight and bulk doesn't make getting into pockets while seated an easy thing) and put those on the floor before me, then started emptying out the bag.  
  
The three hobbits looked astounded by the various things I produced from the bag. It wasn't much of a haul: one book ("The Ladies of Mandrigyn"), my wallet, my scribble pad of a notebook, my pencilcase (with the bulldog clip holding it closed, as usual), one set of house keys, my Leatherman, one rather battered bottle of Nurofen, a bottle of water (half- full, I'd forgotten to take it out after dance class last night), three sanitary pads, a lip balm, a roll-on sunblock, a packet of Fisherman's Friend cough lollies, the box of disks, a small packet of disposable tissues, my ID card for work, and a green and white linen teatowel which had been sitting in there since about early March and hadn't yet been put away. Nothing really helpful there, aside from the Leatherman. Not much to be going on with. This was not turning out well. Most interdimensional travellers come equipped for just about everything, from having to escape from prison, to bartering with the natives for food. If I'd known I was going to be stepping through a portal to another world, I would've at least loaded up with my medication. Oh shit! No Cipramil. No Thyroxine. Oh Christ! This was not going to be good.  
  
Abruptly I put my head in my hands, trying hard not to cry. This was not turning out to be a good day. 


	2. Settling In

Chapter Two: Settling In  
  
Two days later, my ankle was almost back to normal, with a bit of strapping for support. I also had the wrist strapped up, just to hold it steady as it was a bit more shaky than normal and kept slipping out at odd moments. Frodo, Sam and Pippin had accepted my story. I think it was the unloading of my bag which had served as the final clincher. That and the fact that I couldn't read their books, and they couldn't read mine. It seemed that my knowledge of Westron was probably magical, some kind of translation spell. I tested it by getting Frodo to try some Sindarin at me, which I understood perfectly (although it did come out with a very slight Shire accent, oddly enough). There was no knowing when it would wear off, either. As can be imagined, this made me happy as a sandboy... not.  
  
Frodo had told me that he was expecting Gandalf to send word, and turn up for the farewell party on the evening before the 23rd. I kept silent about the fact that I strongly suspected that he wouldn't, from my own knowledge of the plot of the book that I had inadvertently landed in. I had managed to borrow a spare nightshirt from Frodo and one from Pippin, which means that I at least had some spare shirts. Spare trousers and underwear were another problem. None of the hobbits underthings fitted me, and I was damned if I was going into a skirt; I don't like chafed thighs at the best of times, and this was most definitely not the best of times. Skirts are too much of a nuisance for me. I wound up alternating days with the leggings, knickers and tights, washing one pair each night, drying it the next day. Frodo had managed to find me a pair of dwarven breeches, which had been left behind by their former owner on one of their visits to Bag End. After a bit of an airing to freshen them up, I had another pair of trousers to wear. These almost fit, although they were a bit long at the ankles. Apparently I'm either short for a dwarf, as well as for a human, or dwarfs are slightly differently proportioned to human women.  
  
The withdrawal from the cipramil had started and I was feeling nauseous all the time. I'd explained to Frodo that I was supposed to take two different sorts of medicine every day, one for a problem with my metabolism (and wasn't it fun explaining that concept), one for my depression (this was somewhat easier to explain, as there was a vaguely similar condition which affected a few of the hobbit-folk: melancholia, they called it). I also explained that I had none of my medicines with me and that as a result, I might not be completely well for a week or so. He offered to fetch over the local healer, an offer which I declined. If I was to remain in Bag End, I was determined to keep my presence as quiet as possible. After all, I wasn't mentioned in the books. Sam was a great help, preparing peppermint tea for me, which was very nice. It was one of the few things I could handle drinking and it helped me keep what little food I was able to eat down.  
  
On the morning of my third day in Bag End, I'd tried to find the portal back to my own world. No such luck. It wasn't there again on the fourth morning. I had to get into touch with Gandalf and see whether he could (or would) help me get back home. So I had to keep a grip on myself, and save the shrieking hysterics for a later date. This was not going to be fun; it was how I'd always got caught up in depression before. However, I knew that I really didn't have a choice. Screaming hysterics wouldn't help me here, and would only alienate the hobbits, who I needed to have on my side for this one. I didn't have any other ideas on how to get myself out of it here. I was half scared of being caught up in the depression again and half scared of being stuck in Middle-Earth forever. I don't know which one scared me more. I think it was the combination of both which had me close to hysterical tears all the time: that and the withdrawal symptoms. To really put the tin lid on it, I wasn't sleeping at nights, either. I'd lie awake, tossing, turning, terrified and trying to get to sleep, something which wasn't helped by the bed being a good foot too short for me. I started to understand some of the problems my taller friends went through. Not even reciting the multiplication tables worked to help me nod off. I felt like death warmed over each morning, and, from the faces of Frodo and Sam, I looked it.  
  
On the good side, Pippin and I got along just fine. He'd introduced me to Merry (whose first comment when he saw me was "Ooh, just the right height to keep my ears warm." Cheeky ratbag! That rather earthy sense of humor wasn't mentioned anywhere, I'm sure.) and the two of them decided to bring me in on their "conspiracy", which was good therapy in and of itself. My job was to keep Frodo distracted now and stop him from worrying himself silly about leaving the Shire. So I did that, mainly by asking him to show me around, or teach me Westron (I have absolutely no faith in magic and I really didn't want to find myself in a position of suddenly being unable to communicate except via pantomime). In the meantimes, Sam, Merry and Pippin got to work and packed up some more of Bag End and moved some more objects over to Crickhollow.  
  
Frodo was very interested in Earth as I knew it. A world without hobbits, without elves, without even dwarfs, totally run by Men. It must have sounded like something out of a fantasy story to him, too. I wound up telling him and Sam stories of King Arthur and all the mythology I could remember. Sam in particular had problems realising that I was speaking of a lot of different cultures of humans: the hobbit culture around here tended to be pretty monolithic, although I was aware that this changed outside the areas near the Shire. I also told them tales of the elves and dwarves of our own world, including what I could remember of the Wagner librettos. For this I will probably get murdered by the purists of the world, when and if I get back. However, I can live with it. Information, at this stage, was the one thing I had to bargain with. I needed to get knowledge about Middle Earth, they wanted knowledge about the place I'd come from.  
  
Frodo also (at my insistence) wound up teaching me the elven script that he used, as well as some dwarfish runes. I started to be able to piece together words, which was good. I'd never realised what it meant to be sub-literate, as I'd been a keen reader since I was two. It was a real nuisance, as I felt uneducated. I knew I wasn't but it was still a nagging feeling at the edge of my mind. Although I tried to suppress them, Australianisms kept jumping out, and startling the hobbits. Especially the swearwords. Definitely not ladylike, but I got the feeling that they soon stopped classifying me as female by their own cultural norms, and just put me into a separate category of my own: "Megs". A nice touch of homeliness, really: I've spent most of my life being classified as "one of the boys" by the various groups of menfolk that I hang around with.  
  
In an effort to repay them all for their hospitality, I tried to do my share of the chores. All four of them thought this a bit of a laugh, as I'm the wrong size entirely for hobbit-size brooms and tools. I did my best, and persuaded them all to let me do the washing each day; after all, I said, as I've got to wash my own things, I may as well wash theirs, too. They were good hosts, but I think they were looking forward to Gandalf coming along, all the same. So was I, in a way. I was hoping against hope that my presence had altered things enough that I could meet up with him while we were still in the Shire, and he would be able to send me back. Meanwhile, there was this corner of my head which was nagging me, and saying that I'd got two chances of that happening, and one of them was Buckley's. Dammit. I wanted to go home. I was missing my friends at work, missing my friends on the 'net. I kept worrying that they were worrying about me, and that I was going to be thought of as dead. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my PC again, I wanted to experience the joy of indoor plumbing (going to the privy of a night was somewhat frightening; I think the thing attracted spiders, not to mention lizards). I wanted a nice hot shower; I wanted my own clothes back; I wanted to get back to my own job; I didn't want to be here. I desperately wanted someone to wake me up, and tell me I was having a bad dream. I wanted someone to cuddle me, tell me that I was being silly again. But they couldn't, and they wouldn't, and I was trapped here until I found that bloody wizard and got him to shunt me home again. To be deadly honest, I hated it. 


	3. Three is Company, Four Is A Hiking Exped...

Chapter Three: Three is Company (Four is a Hiking Expedition)  
  
Well, September the twenty-third arrived, as it had always meant to. I'd talked things over with Frodo; he had agreed that I would walk to Crickhollow with him, Pippin, and Sam (my explanation was that I needed to speak to Gandalf, who would presumably be coming to that house if he had not reached Bag End by the twenty-third). I'd also talked things over with Sam, Merry and Pippin; they'd agreed that I would be going with the four of them at least as far as Bree, after leaving the Shire. My job was still keeping Frodo distracted while the packing goes on, which I was doing by getting lessons in just about anything. I said that I wanted to know as much as possible, just in case Gandalf couldn't send me back to my own world. The party on the twenty-second went well, although I left them to it. I stayed in the kitchen keeping an eye on things: my thank-you gift to the four of them.   
  
I got my first glimpse of the Sackville-Bagginses on the twenty-second. Lobelia was one of those sharp, pinched women, the type who looks like she spends her entire life sucking lemons. I mentioned this description to Frodo, who nearly burst out laughing in front of her (which is what I'd intended anyway. He was looking almost as depressed as me at my worst when she and her lout of a son came by). Lotho leered at me most rudely, until I gave him a glare, at which point he went and hid behind his mother. Little pipsqueak lout. He really made me appreciate the good manners of Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Sam, as well as those of Fatty and Folco, all of whom had been most considerate and gentlemanly about the whole business. After I'd glared at him, he confined his gaze to the rest of the room, but his comments and his mother's about "Strange sluts from who knows where" and "no better than she should be" were perfectly audible. I was strongly tempted to take the little blowhard and shake him until his teeth rattled, as well as giving Mistress Lobelia a rather large piece of my mind.  
  
Fortunately, Sam was able to come up with an explanation of who I was that satisfied the pair of them: I was a messenger from Gandalf, sent to look after Frodo's affairs here in Bag End and help him with the move. Good thinking, Sam! (One of the things that tends to be forgotten about Master Gamgee is his creativity on the fly. I keep wondering where it came from, to be honest. Possibly it's a result of a career of "explaining" to the Gaffer where he was when he was meant to be at work.) Of course, then Mistress Lobelia tried to hire me to work for her instead. Luckily I could say with perfect truth that I had to accompany Mister Baggins to meet up with Gandalf, so I was unable to accept her offer. The sour-faced old bat took that in bad grace, too. Thank gods they went.  
  
So we were finally off. The last lights had been quenched, the door had been locked, and I was following behind Frodo and Pippin on the way to the meadow gate at the bottom of the Hill. I had a pack of my own, with all my clothes rolled up good and tight in it, as well as a bedroll, some food for a couple of days and some blankets. I was back in my jeans and the long-sleeved t-shirt I had landed in: both black, which meant I was a bit harder to spot. Add the black velvet coat, and my bag (a black knapsack) and I was all set. My keys were all in my pockets, so they wouldn't jingle as much, while the Leatherman pocket knife was on my belt, in its customary position near the middle of my back. Sam and Frodo were joshing each other about their packs, and Pippin was busy teasing the pair of them.   
  
"Which way are we going?" I asked quietly. Frodo gestured with his stick, toward the fields, and led us off. I tried to move silently, something which was helped a little by the fact that I'm a bit taller than the three of them, and I could therefore afford to stride out a bit more and place my feet carefully. Even so, they moved like shadows, while I moved like a moderately quiet rustle in the bushes. Part of it, I think, is the fact that I was wearing my boots, while they were barefoot. I can move fairly silently when I want to, but the boots make it difficult, even on concrete. Speaking of the boots, I became more and more aware of that tiny patch on my right heel where the heel cup of my boot is just a half a centimetre too high for my actual heel and goes in where I go out and rubs and rubs and rubs and owwwwwwww. I was going to have a blister from that one; no bandaids either. What a wonderful adventure.   
  
The walk continued for ages and ages, or so I felt, until I was so tired I could almost drop in my tracks. I was trailing behind and Pippin was starting to straggle behind with me. Eventually, he spoke up and asked for rest (a sentiment that I heartily concurred with). We all found a resting place in a little glade beneath some trees. I thought I saw a fox hiding in the undergrowth as I rolled myself up in my blankets. Well, at least the story was progressing as planned, I thought, and slept soundly for the first time in weeks. Exhaustion is a wonderful sleeping draught.  
  
The next morning dawned foggy. I woke at dawn, as usual. I seem to get woken up by the breaking of day, no matter where I am (which made for fun when I was overseas, I can tell you). I woke stiff, aching, and footsore. Another day of walking as well. Oh bugger. Time to start practicing those stretches I learned in dance class in earnest, as well as those few yoga postures I could remember from years ago. I decided to start with the Salute to the Sun, which was nice and straightforward and should get some of the kinks out of my back. Then on to pendulum stretches, and the seated thigh and back stretches. By then, Frodo had awoken, and I was about ready to burst. So while he woke up the others, I found a quiet bush to hide behind and rediscovered the joys of being female, in trousers, without plumbing (otherwise known as "How Not To Piss In Yer Boots"). Okay, so skirts have their uses. Ah well, can't have everything. At least the leaves on the bush were the right size and the right type for what was necessary. Also luckily, I'd been so stressed out by the whole translocation that my period hadn't started yet. Hopefully it would remain that way. One more mess to deal with would have really set the seal on the whole affair.   
  
When I came back to the campsite, Frodo had gone for a wander (probably for much the same reason as myself) and Sam and Pippin were just starting to get themselves out of their blankets. I started gathering together some wood, to get the fire going again. Pippin commented that he hoped that Frodo would bring back some water with him. I took a look at where our packs were stacked: the water bottles were sitting there, bold as brass.   
  
"I think you're out of luck, Pippin," I laughed, as I pointed to them. Sam and I settled down to getting the breakfast ready; bacon, eggs, tomatoes and a few sausages each for the hobbits, while I just had an apple. Pippin gathered up the blankets and rolled them up for each of us, then found himself a bush to water as well. I watched the breakfast (thinking of the one that they'd be having at work this week as I did so) while Sam went and watered another one. Pippin and Frodo went to get some water and a wash, then watched the breakfast for Sam and I while we went and washed. After breakfast, and a cup of tea (hot water for me; tea seemed to burn a hole in my stomach these days, and there's no chocolate to be had anywhere in Middle Earth for love nor magic) we packed up and set off again.   
  
The weather was warm and sunny. I took off my coat and stuffed it into my bag, while the hobbits took off their cloaks and jackets and tied them around their waists. But on we walked, over hill, over dale, sometimes singing as we went, sometimes not. Occasionally, as we topped a rather steep hill, everyone stopped, looking at the road heading off into the distance. It was a beautiful sight, seeing the lowlands of the Shire and the Brandywine river off in the distance. There's nothing quite like that back on Earth. We stopped on a hilltop looking down toward Buckland for a rest and for lunch, then we moved off again.   
  
About an hour or so later, Sam said he thought he heard a pony, and Frodo suggested that we get off the road and hide. In the silence of my heart, I knew what was going to be happening next, and I wasn't looking forward to it. Sam chose to stay with Frodo. I hid around the corner from them, with Pippin. I watched the black rider, as he dismounted and sniffed after the hobbits. All was going according to plan, when the Rider appeared to notice me, where I was crouched with Pippin. It turned toward me, almost looking at me - I would swear that it saw me, no matter how hard I was trying to hide. But I can't explain what it did next, not in any way. It bowed in my direction, remounted, then rode off. I heard a gasp from Pippin beside me, and looked down to see him looking at me as though I'd turned into someone else.   
  
"What's wrong, Pippin?" I asked.   
  
"When that ... that rider looked at you, I could have sworn I saw someone different standing there, instead of you. Someone with scars on her face, along here." He gestured at his left cheekbone. "She didn't look nice, either. All cruel and hard. But she looked like you, too."  
  
I felt an odd sense of foreboding. "Would you recognise her if she appeared again?" I asked him. He nodded. I nodded slowly back. Something wasn't right here, but I didn't know what.  
  
When Frodo and Sam rejoined us, Pippin was still looking shaken. After Frodo described the black rider and his actions, Pippin described what had happened to me, or rather, what he had seen.   
  
"I can't believe that the two aren't linked," he finished. "But what has one of the Big People got to do with us? And why is he in this part of the world?"  
  
I listened as Sam told his tale of the stranger who'd been speaking to the Gaffer the previous night as well as to the discussion that had followed. I was trying to piece things together in my head, but at the moment I couldn't figure it out. I guessed that there was an underlying pattern here, but at the moment, I was missing a lot of different pieces. I just hoped that I found them. At least I knew the story was going mainly along the right track at this stage. although the fact that it had drifted off course this early was worrying. Was my presence having that much of an influence?  
  
We moved on.  
  
Now we were walking off the road, keeping out of sight as much as possible. Dinner that night was in the bole of an old tree, then on again, trying to get as much of the distance between ourselves and Buckland cut down. I hummed along with them as they walked singing their song about Adventures, trying to keep my spirits up as much as possible. I could feel blackness welling up within me as we walked. There was something on our trail: I could feel it and I was pretty sure of what it was. As the song finished, Frodo cocked his head and stated that he could hear hooves again. We slipped off the road and back into the darkness, hiding behind some trees. Once again, the Rider behaved curiously, appearing to be torn between chasing Frodo and chasing me. Oh gods, was my presence going to be confusing them the whole time? Thank heavens the elves would be along shortly. Yes, there were the shadows in the wood behind us changing - more light. The rider turned, mounted its horse once again, and moved off.  
  
"Meg, Meg, are you alright?"   
  
The voice was Pippin's. He was looking up at me again, concerned. "You were looking like that other person again. Your eyes were sort of glowing too. What is happening?"  
  
"I don't know, Pippin. I really don't know. But I'm alright, I think."   
  
His face showed his disbelief of that one. "That's twice in the one day that you've gone all odd. Both times when those black riders are about, too," he said. "I'm worried about you, Meg. Are you going to be able to reach Buckland with us?"   
  
I gave him a shaky smile. "I'll make it," I said.   
  
Then the sound of the singing became more clear to us. I looked at Frodo, who'd come back to join us. He explained that yes, it was elves, coming this way. We all crept down to the side of the road and watched the elves go past. I'd never seen anything quite so beautiful. I could feel myself beginning to weep at the beauty of it and fished in my bag for my tissues, to blow my nose. I think that's what made them realise that we were there: after all, I'm hardly the most silent mover even back in my own world. The last elf turned, noticed Frodo sitting among us and greeted him by name. Apparently three hobbits and a woman are a strange combination to be wandering through the Shire in the dead of night (no kidding!). So the greetings were exchanged, although Pippin interrupted to ask them about the Black Riders. This got them all talking among themselves. Elves going into a huddle looks most unusual; it's sort of like a gathering of fireflies, because of the glow about them, but very silent, very gentle. It was still rather startling to realise that I could understand quite a lot of what was discussed, missing only the occasional word, especially when I know that I don't understand Sindarin when I'm back home. Anyway, the end result of this was that the elven group decided to take us with them on the evening's travel, which was rather reassuring. (I keep worrying that my presence is going to throw the quest off its true course, which is frightening; I don't want to be responsible single-handedly for the downfall of Middle Earth). So off we set again, this time in the middle of a group of elves. Once again, I felt like a great clumsy wazzock. Drat.  
  
Eventually we reached the elves glade and curled up in a corner. Pippin was so tired and exhausted from the day's excitements that he fell asleep. I must admit that I was fairly close to the same state myself. I was feeling exhausted to the core. I think I slept for a while.   
  
I awoke to find a large fire glowing in the distance and a she-elf (or at least, I think it was a she-elf; it's very hard to tell whether a particular elf is male or female on first glance) sitting beside me awaiting my awakening.   
  
She (it was a she, on second glance) smiled at me and said "Your friends said that you had not been well today, so they asked that we let you sleep. If you wish it, I am skilled in healing, and I may be able to help you."  
  
I smiled back, a bit ruefully. "What was their exact wording? That I hadn't quite been myself?"  
  
She looked at me and nodded. "Apparently the riders are affecting you strangely," she commented.  
  
"Well, yes, that's one way of putting it. A better way of putting it is that I appear to be affecting the riders strangely. I don't know why, either, which is worrying."  
  
"The leader of our band has asked that you not join the gathering unless it is certain that you are not an agent of the dark powers." The statement from the she-elf was blunt. I nodded in response.  
  
"What would be required to ascertain this?" I asked her.  
  
*I have been trained by the Lady of Lothlorien.* The voice was within my mind. *May I enter within your thoughts, to ascertain that you are not of the Dark?*   
  
I nodded again. I didn't really have a choice, after all. I needed to get to Rivendell. I knew from my own memories of the books that this particular group of elves was in communication with the elves of Rivendell, that they would be sending a messenger by their own roads to Elrond himself to warn of the hobbits and of the Black Riders. If they also chose to warn that I wasn't to be trusted, that I wasn't clearly of the light, then I wouldn't be allowed entry to Rivendell. I was certain of that much.  
  
"Do you need me to do anything?" I asked. "I've never done this sort of thing before. My first time."  
  
A chuckle came from the elf opposite me. "Like all first times, what is required is that you relax. Look toward the fire over there," she gestured in the direction of the bonfire,"and clear your mind of all thought. I shall be placing images in your mind, in order to see what comes to your mind first as a reaction."  
  
I did as instructed, clearing my mind as much as I could. A procession of images flickered through behind my vision. Flames, light, trees, stars, hideous faces, beautiful faces, mountains, grasslands, too many images for me to categorise or respond to with any sense of rationality. Indeed, they barely registered in my mind. After a minute, it was done.  
  
"You are not of the dark, in so far as I can tell," the she-elf told me. I nodded. "You may be turned into a tool of the dark, but it will not be without a fight on your part. Yet there is something strange within your mind, memories and thoughts which do not fit what I know of Men."  
  
"It's a long story," I told her. She smiled at me.  
  
"I hope I am able to hear it one day, in that case. My name is Annuniael."  
  
She extended a hand and led me to the gathering by the fire. I was given food and drink. I looked around to see Sam and Pippin both spellbound. I could hear from some of the comments of the elves that they thought it rather amusing to see the sheer joy on the faces of the two younger hobbits. Frodo was being treated in a princely fashion, something which is being assisted by the fact that he was speaking occasional words of Sindarin. Thanks to Frodo's teaching, I'd learned a few words of Sindarin myself and I used them to thank those around me. Whenever I remember that night it is the singing of the elves which surrounds me. I keep finding myself regretting all the times I've ever said that I had a good singing voice. I now know this to be a lie: beside an elf with a head cold, a sore throat and laryngitis, I still sound like a crow croaking my way through a song. That sound will remain with me for the rest of my life. I don't know that I'll ever be able to sing again without remembering it.  
  
Eventually Frodo and I were the only ones left awake. Gildor, the leader of the elves, eventually sent Frodo off to sleep, but before I could go myself, he laid a hand on my arm.   
  
"You, traveller from another world, what would you do?"   
  
I looked at him. "I would return to my home. I cannot do this under my own power, but I hope that Gandalf may be able to do this for me. If this is not the case, I would hope that I may be able to build myself a home here on Middle Earth. I may not have a choice in the matter."   
  
"But you know what stands in your path?"  
  
"I know. In my world, this is a tale, one that I've read many times. I worry sometimes that my presence will skew the tale, change the ending, cause all to take the wrong path. The hobbits don't know that I've effectively seen their futures. I'm keeping that very close to my chest, because if I let them know, they'll keep asking me what they should do and that will change the story even more."  
  
He nodded. "Annuniael saw much in your mind, much that brings hope to us, even if it does not bring hope to you. I would say that your path lies with the Ring, at least as far as Rivendell."  
  
I bowed my head. I decided not to quote the same proverb as Frodo, as that would probably be testing things a little.   
  
"My thanks both to yourself, lord, and to Annuniael for this gift. With your permission, I shall join my companions in rest." He nodded at me again, and I withdrew to the bower in the trees, carrying Sam with me. 


	4. A Shortcut to Mushrooms

Author's note: Some of the dialogue (well, quite a bit of it, actually) in this chapter is taken, holus bolus, from the chapter of the same name in JRR Tolkien's book "Fellowship Of The Ring". This text is used without permission in this work of fan fiction. As per the author's notes for Chapter One, no money of any sort is being made from this work of fan ficton.  
  
Chapter Four: A Short Cut to Mushrooms  
  
The next morning, we all woke refreshed. Again, I woke at dawn, with probably only two or three hours of sleep under my belt. Now, normally, after two or three hours sleep, I wake up grumpy as a dragon with toothache and twice as likely to breathe fire. Not that morning, however. Presumably this was a side-effect of elven healing. I hardly needed to do my stretches, although I decided that it would be a good habit to get into anyway. Upon a brief inspection of the clearing, it appeared that our elven hosts had long since departed. We were alone in the wood. I was first up, which meant that I could get the necessary business of dealing with messy biological imperatives out of the way before the hobbits awoke. There was a small spring near our sleeping place, which I chose to use to wash my face and hands and any other bits which were reachable. Oh, for a shower and the chance to wash my hair. It was starting to get lank and greasy, or at least that was my own opinion of the situation. I had to plait it hard out of my eyes in an effort to stop my scalp from crawling. Luckily on the day I'd come through the portal I'd been wearing some combs in my hair. At present, my hair was tied back with a few leather thongs, one to secure each of the plaits I now wore it in.  
  
I took my seat near one of the trees, brought out my comb and tried to get some of the worst tangles out of my hair. This was getting to be an annoying task and I was beginning to be tempted by the thought of taking to my mop with scissors and cutting the whole mess short. Instead, I settled down to teasing out the snarls and tangles with the comb, then brushing my hair until it shone. Then down to replaiting the whole darn mess. I wish I'd learned how to do a french braid while I was in school.  
  
Sam and Pippin both woke up while I was cursing over the knots. Both of them grabbed themselves breakfast from the supplies that were left for us. I just asked for an apple: I've never been overly fond of breakfast. Admittedly, I've been teased about being a hobbit at work, but I've never really been a fan of the six meals a day bit. Given my 'druthers, I'd skip most meals through to about midday. I was trying to be sensible at the moment by having something in the morning, but it was still a struggle. I was distracted for a moment by a bit of a scuffle which happened between Sam and Pippin, mainly over the issue of whether any bread should be left for Frodo. I told them to leave him my share, as I didn't want it. Having finally finished tidying my hair away for the day, I pointed both of them to the spring and went to fetch my book from my bag. After all, I thought, I may as well get some reading done while we're all waiting for Frodo to awaken. However, I think it was the faint noises of my going to my bag which woke him. He looked over and smiled at me and asked whether I'd slept well. I replied as per courtesy and asked him the same thing, then advised him to get out and grab his breakfast before the other two decided to eat it for him. That got a grin out of Frodo, although he did seem to be brooding about something. I gathered together my things and checked over them, making sure that I hadn't lost anything, or had things that I needed shake themselves to the bottom of my pack. I had a suspicion that things were going to get very interesting very shortly; I certainly didn't want to lose anything important. Meanwhile, I could hear Frodo snapping Pippin's nose off, for being a morning person when he wasn't.  
  
While Frodo and Sam were talking, I caught up with Pippin. I was a bit curious about a few things. Things that hadn't quite been covered in the books to the depth that I wanted to know them. Hey, I'm a fanfiction writer: if I'm trapped in Middle Earth, I may as well use the opportunity to get in some invaluable research.  
  
"Are you sure that you want to follow Frodo wherever he's going, Pippin?" I asked him.  
  
He nodded. "I've been watching him for a while now," he said. "This whole decision to leave tore him up inside. He's miserable. I don't want him going off on his own miserable. He'd only get lost, or upset, or something. At least with us along, he'll have someone to look after him!"  
  
At that I couldn't help but smile. "Pippin, while you're looking after Frodo, who's going to be looking after you?" I teased.  
  
He grinned back at me. "Merry will. And I'll look out for Merry as well!"  
  
I laughed aloud hearing that one. "You're incorrigible, you are," I commented, ruffling his hair. "Come on, it looks like the other two are going to be up and moving soon."  
  
We walked back to the clearing, where Frodo gave us our marching orders for the day. We were all going to head across country, well off the road. I suppose this was a good thing, even though Pippin did mention that the country was going to be rough. We really didn't need to be having the Black Riders coming at us from all angles. It was rather unsettling for all of us, after all. The weather was coming in muggy, which wasn't a good sign. I hoped that things wouldn't turn nasty later on. Ah well, on with the packs, on with my boots (grimace) and off into the woods with us.  
  
Well, that was a mistake. We headed off down the first slope, and realised the problems almost immediately. Thick undergrowth, no paths, and brambles, brambles everywhere, with not a pair of hedge clippers between us. I was just glad that I was wearing one of the nightshirts I'd been loaned by Frodo, as anything knitted would have been torn to shreds. By the time we reached the stream at the bottom of the bank, I was about ready to give up. At that, I was lucky. I could push a way through the undergrowth a bit easier than the three hobbits, as well as being better suited to cross the stream. Even so, I was muddy, grubby and sweaty by the time we'd all reached the bottom of the hill.  
  
We ended up standing by the bank of the stream, or to be more honest, Frodo, Sam and Pippin were standing by the bank of the stream. I was sitting on the bank of the stream, trying to get my breath back. Pippin looked over at Frodo, with an expression of "told you so" on his face.  
  
"First check," he said.  
  
Sam had been looking back over his shoulder, possibly trying to figure out whether there was any way of getting back out of the gully we were caught in. So it was that he was the first to catch a glimpse of the Black Rider. A horse, silhouetted against the sky, with a figure in black stooped nearby, apparently snuffling at the ground. To quote the Death of the Discworld: "OH. DRAMA."  
  
We all ducked into the bushes, lying flat, trying not to move or even breathe loudly. We all waited there, still as rabbits before a snake (not the most comforting similie, but certainly the most accurate), listening out for any sound of the Black Rider. I could hear Frodo whispering to Pippin as I lay there.  
  
"Whew! We were both right! The short cut has gone crooked already; but we got under cover only just in time."  
  
By looking across from where I was lying, I could see Pippin nodding his agreement. From where we were all hidden, it was impossible to see the Black Rider on the hilltop. Instead, we strained every nerve, trying to hear any sound which would indicate that the horse was being led down the hills.  
  
"Sam: can you hear anything coming?" The question was from Frodo. We fell silent once more, until at length, Sam shook his head.  
  
"I don't fancy he would try bringing his horse down that bank," Sam commented. "But I guess he knows we came down it. We'd better be going on."  
  
Seconded, thirded and carried unanimously, as far as I could see. Slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible (as much as a startled pack of hounds, in my case) we all crawled out from under the bushes. I waited for the hobbits to stand up, before trying to stand up myself. After all, there are disadvantages to being fourteen inches taller than the rest of the party, one of which is that I tended to stand out like a lighthouse compared to the other three. My natural lack of stealth added to this.  
  
"Any sign of company?" I asked quietly, once they'd all stood up. A quick check of the situation, and a shake of the head from Pippin. I slowly stood up, checking up the hill as I did so. There was no sign of the Black Rider, but for one reason or another that didn't really reassure me. I looked at the others. "Which way?"  
  
Frodo pointed - we were headed downstream. More brambles. Oh, how nice.  
  
"Do you want me to go in front?" I asked. "It'll be easier for you to follow behind after me, for starters. If something nasty comes along, you three can run for it, while I play 'very lost traveller' as you make your getaway."  
  
Frodo cocked a look up at me, slightly suspicious, while Pippin, behind Frodo, grimaced slightly, in a "don't give away secrets" manner. Frodo studied me for a moment, trying to figure out whether I meant what I was saying, while I pulled out my best "thoroughly sincere" face. Either the "thoroughly sincere" face worked (a first) or he'd decided that it was probably best to humour the travelling madwoman. Whichever it was, he pointed out the direction that we were supposed to be heading in, and told me to lead off.  
  
I followed the path of the stream, pushing my way through the brambles, holding the vines off as I passed through them. At least I'd guessed correctly - with my assistance at the front we actually made slightly better time along the banks of the stream, because I was able to clear a path wide enough that the three hobbits could get through without getting too badly snagged. I wasn't moving too quickly, mainly because I was too busy trying to get through without getting snagged myself, as well as trying to avoid rabbit holes (the last thing I needed at this point was a quick trip to Wonderland, or even a quick trip on my weak ankle) and other signs that this wasn't a highly travelled area.  
  
Eventually, the brambles started to thin out. I could see an area of open ground ahead, where it looked as though the stream was a bit shallower. In the distance, I could see a bit of marshy ground, and what looked like a river. I described what I could see to my three companions. Sam looked plain bewildered - apparently he was very much out of his environment. Frodo looked slightly puzzled, while Pippin looked very vexed indeed.  
  
"Why, this is the Stock-brook!" he said. "If we are going to try and get back on to our course, we must cross at once and bear right."  
  
Frodo looked equally vexed when he heard the news of where we were. Apparently he was starting to regret our shortcut somewhat. He nodded his agreement to Pippin's plan. The three of them headed over to the water's edge and waded across. I paused only long enough to roll up my trousers - I wasn't all that keen on soggy shins and damp ankles for the remainder of the day. I also took the chance to take off my shoes and socks.  
  
The stream was shallow but fast-flowing. It was also cold. Very cold. I was very glad to get across it and put my shoes back on again. Of course, I got a certain amount of good-natured teasing from Pippin about needing to wear them in the first place.  
  
Once we were over the stream, we headed swiftly for a belt of trees, clumped together. I could recognise the oaks, mainly from the rather distinctive shape of their leaves, but I had no idea what the other trees were. They seemed vaguely familiar (Canberra has a lot of non-native vegetation, mostly planted by the sort of well-meaning environmentalist who believes that all trees are good trees, no matter how unsuited to the conditions they are), but I couldn't put names to them. I wished that I'd bothered to learn more about botany. There was a breeze blowing, which was something of a mercy, although all it was doing was vaguely stirring the humidity, rather than actually providing any comfort.  
  
As we were passing through the forest, I felt the first spots of rain, and tried to decide whether it was worth my while getting out my "horse blanket" jacket. I'd just decided that it probably wasn't worthwhile when the heavens opened. Luckily I'd been provided with a Dwarven cloak by Frodo (from the small store of Dwarven gear in Bag End), which served quite well to keep the worst of the rain off.  
  
By this time, however, I'd lost my bearings entirely. The belt of trees hadn't seemed very wide when we entered it, maybe about five hundred metres. Yet it seemed that we'd been walking among the trees for a long while. Pippin seemed to share this apprehension.  
  
"I hope we have not turned too much towards the south and are not walking longwise through this wood!" he commented. "It is not a very broad belt - I should have said no more than a mile at the widest - and we ought to have been through it by now."  
  
"It is no good our starting to go in zig-zags. That won't mend matters," Frodo replied. I had to agree. It would have been good to see the sun, simply so that we could get our bearings again. "Let us keep on as we are going!" Frodo continued. "I am not sure that I want to come out into the open yet."  
  
So on we walked, carefully pacing our way through the wood. I was at the back of the group with Sam now, both of us content to let Frodo and Pippin do the leading and path-finding. After all, neither of us knew where we were.  
  
"No use us commenting," was Sam's apt summation of the situation. "Not until the sun's shown her face in the sky again, anyway."  
  
Eventually the rain ceased, and the sun joined us once again.  
  
"Just in time for lunch, she is," Sam said, for it was clear that we'd walked beyond midday, and it was definitely time for us all to stop and eat. We stopped briefly for lunch and discovered that the Elves had given us some of their drink. I don't know what it was, but it was golden, honey-smelling, with no alcohol in it at all (I'd know about alcohol; there are some good points to allergies). It was something which seemed to perk us all up and give us a bit of hope and spirit. It cheered up the hobbits enough that they started singing. I felt like joining in and I was planning to on the second chorus, when suddenly this horrible noise came out of the distance. If you've ever heard a sulfur-crested cockatoo arguing with a pink galah in the middle of a collapsing heap of rusty ironworks, you'll know exactly what it didn't quite sound like. It had elements of all of these, though. Definitely not a nice noise to be hearing when you think that you're all alone and unobserved. I'd hate to think how many romantic trysts it ruined that day, especially when the second one answered it.  
  
"So, which way?" I asked, as soon as the racket had died down. Frodo and Pippin both pointed off in an easterly direction. We set off through the edge of the wood and came to a wide area of open ground, which we crossed cautiously. Those Black Riders had been a little too ubiquitous for anyone's comfort lately. But as we continued moving westward, we saw the line of the river. Actually, I was the first to see it. That gave us all a bit of heart. after all, journey's end was near if we could see the river. The land around us became a bit more tame as well; more fields and fences, which gave me a bit more heart too: farms and fields mean civilisation. When we came to Farmer Maggot's gate, I knew things were looking up a bit. Frodo was nervous of the farmer and of his dogs, although Pippin didn't seem that worried. I wasn't sure myself. I've never been a dog person (I prefer cats) and all the stories I'd heard of these dogs didn't make me all that keen to meet them. But what the hey, it was a better road than the main one to be taking.  
  
Of course, we soon encountered Farmer Maggot and his dogs, and he told his tale of the strange folk on the road (cocking an eye at me as he did so). We were invited into his house. The hobbits drank ale and talked, while I drank water and listened as Farmer Maggot told of the visit he'd had from the Black Rider. Not the most reassuring thing to hear. As I listened I watched Frodo's face. I could almost see his thoughts whirring along behind his eyes. Mind you, I also took a look at Pippin, who was watching Frodo intently. He appeared to be doing some thinking himself.  
  
Pippin sometimes gave the impression of being a daft care-for-nowt, just out for a bit of fun, but there were layers under there. It's not something that's really emphasized that much in the books, and barely touched in the films, but Peregrin is the son of the Thain of the Shire, which makes him something like a young noble (it's worth noting that Farmer Maggot, who's a keen-sighted one, greeted him by his full name). As I got to know him, I realised that he had been raised to consider his responsibilities as one of the ruling house as much as his own pleasure. An interesting notion: it meant that he was planning to go on this quest as much out of duty to himself as out of caring about Frodo as a friend. I wondered how many people knew this about Pippin? I thought Merry might: he had a similar imperative himself, as a son of the Master of Brandy Hall and a cousin of Frodo's. An interesting thought, but one I kept to myself for now.  
  
Mrs Maggot came in to announce that supper was ready and to ask us to join them. We all accepted gratefully and ate a very good meal. Farmer Maggot then gave us a lift up to the Ferry. We'd just all got out and were offering our thanks when we heard hoofs on the road. Frodo looked at Sam, both of them looking worried, but Pippin looked straight at me and winked. I knew what he was saying - if I was going to keep getting that funny look, may as well use it to the fullest. I appeared not to be "looking funny" at this point, in which case, that wasn't a black rider up ahead, no matter what the other two thought. The story was still holding true, thank all the gods. I waited in the background as Frodo, Sam and the Farmer got all defensive and fearful. I'll admit that I was glad when Merry greeted us. I was less glad when the ratbag greeted me with the comment that "Ah, I see you've brought my ear-warmer with you!"... cheeky beggar. Mind you, the day that Pippin and Merry take things seriously is going to be a day that their lives are in peril. 


	5. A Conspiracy Unmasked

Author's Notes: Once again, this chapter contains speech which is lifted directly from "The Fellowship of the Ring" by J R R Tolkien. I'm using it because his dialogue is a lot better than mine. Anything that you don't recognise is probably my own, though. Oh, and please take this as read for the next heap of chapters - I'll be fitting the story in around the books, so I'll be borrowing from the original.  
  
Chapter Five: A Conspiracy Unmasked  
  
Merry took us across on the ferry and pointed out the lights of Brandy Hall to me as we crossed. Very impressive - it really was a huge complex - I doubt that there's many buildings on Earth that are more extensive. The crossing itself was uneventful. I found myself looking back at the Shire bank, to try and see the wraith that I knew was seeking us. Sam must have noticed the concern in my face, for he started looking back there himself. Thus it was that we both spotted the Black Rider at the same time. Sam immediately drew this to Frodo's attention. Merry caught sight of it as well. I turned away and headed up the embankment.  
  
While the hobbits discussed the Wraith on the far bank, I put my backpack back on. Both Merry and Pippin happened to be looking at me when I looked back over at the Wraith. I felt a curious sense of familiarity, as though I could reach out and make it turn away.  
  
"Meg!" The voice was Merry's. "Your eyes are glowing. How do you do that?"  
  
"She had that happen a couple of times," noted Pippin.  
  
"Another thing to discuss when we reach Crickhollow," Frodo declared, with a stern look at me. I nodded, and took another look down the bank. The Wraith had vanished.  
  
Merry rode on ahead to organise supper for us while I joined the rest of the hobbits walking to Crickhollow. It was a little out of the way from the main bustle of Buckleberry and Buckland, which was all to the good. We got there and were all welcomed in by Fatty Bolger, who bustled us into the hall as fast as possible. Merry came into the passageway and greeted us all, then led us all to the bathrooms - three tubs in one room for Frodo, Sam and Pippin.  
  
Once they'd gone in, Merry opened the door next to that room and said, "There's a tub in here for you, Meg."  
  
I sighed happily. "Merry, in that one move, you've just earned forgiveness for every single 'ear-warmer' comment you've ever made. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"  
  
Merry laughed, "Well, don't forget to come out for supper, will you?"  
  
I nodded and started unbuttoning my shirt as he closed the door on me. I could hear the three next door singing and splashing, as I stripped to the skin and climbed into the tub. Oh, gods, the last time I'd needed a wash this much was after those few days in Coral Bay, back when I was sixteen. I scrubbed myself all over, soaped myself up, rinsed off and scrubbed my hair until it squeaked. It was glorious. I felt clean again; oh it was wonderful. Mind you, after all of that, there was only a choice of dirty clothes to change into... or at least, so I thought until I found that Merry had also earned his forgiveness in advance for any future "ear- warmer" remarks: a bundle of clean shirts and a couple of skirts (which actually fitted me) plus several changes of underthings in my size, with a simple note beside them, saying "I thought you might need some more clothes." Bless that Brandybuck! That explained why I was supposed to keep Frodo busy. It was keeping me busy as well, so that they could measure my clothes to get an idea of what would fit. Clever fellows, Merry and Pippin.  
  
I joined them all for supper, plaiting my hair again as I went. I had been able to smell the mushrooms cooking as I had entered the house and although I could still feel the previous supper as a warm mass within my stomach, my mouth was watering again. Hopefully I'd be able to grab a couple of mushrooms before the five of them went and ate the lot. I hurried to the kitchen, following the sound of voices.  
  
Luckily they had decided to set me aside a couple of mushrooms before tucking in with a will. I excused myself after eating my share of the mushrooms, to go and wash up the clothes that everyone had worn on the journey (mine most importantly). However, before I could leave the room, Merry wanted to know what had been going on.  
  
"I guess that you have been having adventures," he commented, "which was not quite fair without me."  
  
This prompted both Frodo and Sam to look at me, possibly in disapproval of my funny turn over by the ferry landing. But Merry continued.  
  
"I want a full account; and most of all I want to know what was the matter with old Maggot, and why he spoke to me like that. He sounded almost as if he was scared if that is possible."  
  
At this, Merry looked over at Frodo, who stared into the fire without speaking. Merry's gaze returned to me, questioning. I said nothing either.  
  
It was left to Pippin to speak up, which he did. "We have all been scared. You would be, too, if you had been chased for two days by Black Riders."  
  
Of course, then it all came out. Our journey from Hobbiton, complete with elves, Black Riders, misdirections, and other mishaps. Pippin also told of the way that the Black Riders appeared to affect me. "Sometimes Meg's eyes just glow, like tonight, but sometimes her face changes a bit. There's a scar that seems to appear, just along the right side of her face. Her face goes all hard, too."  
  
"Before you all ask," I put in, "I have no idea why this happens. I'm not too happy about it either."  
  
Sam was giving me a suspicious look. I couldn't help but remember that he had been somewhat suspicious of me when I had first arrived. Knowing what I knew about the quest, I was beginning to have some doubts about the whole thing myself. After all, it wasn't the good guys who stood to benefit if my presence screwed things up beyond repair. I started to think seriously about who might have brought me to Arda, and why.  
  
I decided that about now would be a good time to go and get the washing sorted out, so that they could have their discussion about what Frodo was doing and why in private.  
  
"If you don't need me here," I said, "I'll go and check on our packs, and see about washing the dirty stuff." From the look of gratitude that Frodo gave me, and the look of approval that I got from Sam, I'd made the right choice. I walked out into the hall, my bare feet making very little noise on the wooden floor. Our packs were still in the hall where we had left them, and a few moments quiet rummaging brought out the clothes (or to be more precise, the shirts) that each of the hobbits had been wearing over the past couple of days. I took these with me out to the wash-house at the back of the house, and gave them a quick rinse - I was tired, and I wanted these to dry as fast as possible. I put everything through the mangle, and took them all into the kitchen to dry before the fire.  
  
I came into the kitchen just as Pippin and Merry were explaining their cleverness in organising their conspiracy. They'd just revealed that Sam was their chief investigator, which made poor Sam blush like a tomato. They then revealed that I was part of it, so of course, I joined him in blushing, although the expression on Frodo's face was absolutely wonderful. I wish I'd had my camera with me, just so that I could preserve it for future generations.  
  
Of course, Frodo wasn't going to take the assistance of his friends and relations politely. Indeed, he made a rather nasty comment about not being sure who he could trust, which made Sam very upset.  
  
"It all depends on what you want," was Merry's response to that one. "You can trust us to stick with you through thick and thin - to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours - closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word." I could have cheered. "We are your friends, Frodo. Anyway: there it is. We know most of what Gandalf has told you. We know a good deal about the Ring. We are horribly afraid - but we are coming with you; or following you like hounds."  
  
At this point,I chipped in my own two-pennorth-worth.  
  
"I'm going with you. Mainly because I need to see a wizard to get back to my own world and Gandalf is probably the best candidate at this point; but also because I like you fellows and I don't want to be worrying about what's happening to the four of you. So I'll go along; that way I'll know". I grinned at Frodo, who was looking partially surprised, partially concerned and somewhat worried for me as well. "Merry and Pippin have known about this since shortly after they pulled me into the conspiracy: it was part of the bargain for my silence. You're either going to have me going along with you, or following along ten metres behind, like a circus procession. Which would you like?"  
  
Frodo looked up at me, reluctantly agreeing.  
  
"And after all, sir, you did ought to take the Elves' advice," Sam commented. "Gildor said you should take them as was willing, and you can't deny it."  
  
"So that's settled then," I said, and continued to hang the damp clothes up on clothes horses in front of the fire, while the hobbits laughed and sang behind me. "These should be dry by morning, if that's when we're going to be setting out".  
  
This turned the discussion into one about when we'd actually be setting out, rather than one about who would be going. Frodo considered carefully, then admitted that it would probably be best if we started out at first light tomorrow. Merry had planned ahead and set up some ponies for each of us, along with supplies and most of the stores which would be needed. It was decided that we'd leave via the Old Forest tomorrow. Everyone set to and helped with the tidying up, while Merry and Fatty went to finish the last of the packing. Then we all headed off to bed and I, for one, slept like the dead. 


End file.
